Letting Go(d)

I did a thing.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with the second chapter of Philippians these days. Jesus strips down, if you will, to the bare bones we call “incarnation” and becomes humanity. He does this out of love, willingly, knowing the risks. Paul’s letter includes a hymn.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

⁶ who, though he existed in the form of God,
    did not regard equality with God
    as something to be grasped,
⁷ but emptied himself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    assuming human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a human,
⁸     he humbled himself
    and became obedient to the point of death—
    even death on a cross.

⁹ Therefore God exalted him even more highly
    and gave him the name
    that is above every other name,
¹⁰ so that at the name given to Jesus
    every knee should bend,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
¹¹ and every tongue should confess
    that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father.

There is a kind of glory to willingly being stripped down to the essentials.

This week, I shared a couple of posts on Facebookistan about the end of my PhD journey. The short version is that I “mastered out” and did not earn my PhD. I received an MA in stead. This is what I said in the first post.

On Feelings of Failure

Feelings are not necessarily reality. By this I mean, if I feel like I am human sludge and should be cast off in some dramatic fashion, this may not be true or real. I am not sludge. I should not be cast off…even when I feel that way. But feelings can be powerful indicators of what’s afoot in our lives and they deserve our attention.

Yesterday I received my MA diploma in the mail. Since I failed to complete my dissertation in time, I was allowed to “master out.” So, I did not finish “ABD.” Instead, I have a Masters of Arts in Practical Theology from the Graduate Theological Union. I spent most of my course time at Cal in the ethnomusicology department. If I had it all to do again, I might have worked up the courage to apply to a music/musicology/ethnomusicology department directly. But, like with my MDiv and MTS at Seabury-Western, I wanted the combination of theology and musicology. So, GTU/Cal was perfect. I don’t regret going. I do regret, however, not being honest with myself about the project I really wanted to do. This failure is all my own. It is a hard pill to swallow.

I feel terrible. I feel shame. I feel like human sludge. Ha!

It’s not a question of what I want to do for a living. I’m happy where I am. I’m happy working at all, to be honest. I’m trying to be realistic. There are all of five positions in theology and music that I could possibly have applied for. The pool of positions is shrinking and not growing. I know that. So, teaching middle school or working as a hospice chaplain, it’s all good. I’m grateful for meaningful work. Not everyone has that privilege.

So, today I shall work in my new position. I will attempt not to wallow. I will honor my feelings. I may whine a bit more. It’s all good. I’m grateful. That’s all I got.

Brainy Smurf keeps me company. He is good people.

There were many supportive comments. I feel like I’m whining, but others see vulnerability and honesty. That’s my goal, but it it’s a balancing act. Like

Nadia Bolz-Weber

often says, you don’t want to bleed all over people. “Share your scars not your wounds.”

The second day, I spent a little time sharing my mental health struggles and how they may have played a part in how it all came apart. Scars and wounds alike.

Inevitable?

Once upon a time in California, I took an ADHD test. My primary doctor recommended it. I took the test. He looked at my results. “I’m impressed. You’ve made it very far in academia without the aid of medication. Well done!” We laughed. I had just completed my comprehensive exams and was struggling with the dissertation. The doctor prescribed Adderall. It didn’t do much for me, so I didn’t continue treatment. Not long after, my bipolar disorder would get the best of me and I was hospitalized. I’ve been treating that illness (and getting much better) ever since.

I wish I had known about ADHD, anxiety, and depression back in college. I white knuckled my way through that experience driving myself and my parents batshit crazy with both the failures and successes. I failed five classes. I spent way too much time on academic probation. I developed a piss poor attitude about anything that wasn’t music, religion, and anthropology. I needed to grow up, but I also needed help.

Much later, in seminary, I managed to do very well. I even managed to get straight A’s for the first time in my life. But it was my passion. I was focused. Procrastination was ever-present, but I did well because I wanted to. ADHD, much? In retrospect, it is all very clear to me. But at the time, it was not.  I assumed anything short of an A was a reflection upon my character.

My PhD experience was not much different. I excelled in my ethnomusicology seminars at Cal. The learning curve was steep, but I was completely obsessed. So, I did well. On the other hand, I was a little bit bored by some of my theology and liturgy coursework because it was familiar territory. But I did well enough because I just love the stuff. Again, procrastination and the stress of impending deadlines were my drug of choice. Comprehensive exams were a huge challenge for my ADHD brain. Unstructured learning is just hard. It’s even harder when you have no structure in your brain. Still, with help from my advisor and others, I managed to complete them.

You all know about the dissertation, of course. Train. Wreck. I simply could not do it. I feel like I’m just making excuses. “It’s not me, it’s the ADHD.” The temptation is to blame my intellectual shortcomings and defects of character. I am not smart enough. I am not disciplined enough. I am simply not enough (See: shame spiral; the Mean Therapist loves to talk about that.). I will wrestle with that shit for some time, no doubt.

I’m ruminating on this stuff this morning in order to say this to you: Thank you for yesterday. I appreciate the support and compassion more than you know. All of the comments were kind and thoughtful. I was most surprised by my former professors who chimed in. Unreal. So, thank you. You are kind to me when I cannot be. I appreciate that more than you know.

I will be out and about today shadowing one of the other chaplains. We’ll visit some homes, write some notes in their charts, and meet many of the staff at a local deli. It should be a good day. Gratitude keeps me going even when I’m frustrated by my own limitations.

This is a long post for me and I’m running out of steam. But here’s how today went.

Today, I got to play my mandolin for someone who is dying. I shadowed the music therapist. We played hymns and songs by James Taylor. It was a good day. My mandolin has been in pubs, bars, churches, hospitals, and now the homes of the dying. Every now and then I think I need to replace it with something a little more upscale...perhaps an old Gibson. My mandolin is a beaten up student model Mid-Missouri mandolin. In my mind, I imagine playing mandolins that were built around the same time that some of my patients were born. But for now, I will carry around this old friend and play where we are lead.

This is sometimes what is possible when we are stripped of our own plans and are forced to forge a new path. I am letting go and letting God, as the saying goes.

Today is a good day. I am grateful. We’ll return to the weekly blog on Wednesday.

Y’all be excellent to each other.